The Prose and Poetry of New York's Favorite Nerd Irishman

Tag Archives: Philippe Atherton-Blenkiron

Hey, gang — if you missed its appearance last week over at The Bees Are Dead, here is the audio for my reading of Philippe Atherton-Blenkiron’s “Operation Staffhound.” The poem is from his superb 2014 dystopian science fiction novel in poetry format, “The Pustoy.”

I’m happy today to be able to share The Bees Are Dead’s release of my audio recording of “Operation Staffhound,” by Philippe Atherton-Blenkiron. This truly excellent poem is an excerpt from his 2014 dystopian novel in verse format, “The Pustoy.” (I quite positively reviewed the book both here at the blog and over at Amazon, where it can be purchased — “Operation Staffhound” might be my favorite poem in the complete work.)

“The Pustoy” is a particularly dark science fiction epic that imagines a genocidal dictator, Lev Solokov, ruling a nightmarish future Britain. The brutal “Staffhounds” are his fascist foot-soldiers in the streets.

I had great fun reading the poem. I’m grateful to Philippe for allowing me to interpret it, and to The Bees Are Dead for sharing my recording with its audience:

I am honored to share here that my colleagues over at The Bees Are Dead have agreed to publish my science fiction – horror story, “At the End of the World, My Daughter Wept Metal.”

The story, which originally appeared in Dagda Publishing’s “All Hail the New Flesh” story anthology, should be featured at the online magazine’s website by the end of this month. I will post a link here when it appears.

I am quite grateful to Philippe Atherton-Blenkiron and Dennis Villelmi for this opportunity — not to mention B.A.D.’s invaluable editorial input, which helped me to tighten up my writing considerably. Cheers, Mates!

I am truly honored today to see my colleagues over at The Bees Are Dead feature a new short story of mine. Its title is “Shine Now, Fiercely, Forever,” and it might be the darkest thing I’ve ever written. It portrays a married couple constructing the world’s first functioning time machine — and then discovering what are possibly the worst possible consequences of such a device malfunctioning.

Thanks so much to Philippe Atherton-Blenkiron for allowing me to share via The Bees Are Dead, his online magazine for dystopian prose and poetry! I am grateful indeed for the opportunity he’s afforded me.

I received some great news this morning — my colleagues over at The Bees Are Dead have elected to publish a short story of mine. Its title is “Shine Now, Fiercely, Forever,” and it is a science fiction/horror story about the perils of time travel.

The story should appear sometime over the next month or so — I will link to it here when it does.

Calling all storytellers, poets, photographers and artists who harbor dark visions of the future in their hearts — submit your work to “The Bees Are Dead!” B.A.D. is an entirely new transatlantic webzine devoted to dystopian, futuristic and post-apocalyptic literature, and it released its first official Call for Submissions today:

I am honored to share here that I’ve been invited to partner in B.A.D.’s development with two friends and distinguished colleagues of mine. The first is Philippe Atherton-Blenkiron, and the second is Dennis Williamson. (If you’re familiar with my blog, then you’re well aware that I have long admired both men’s work.) As a third of “The Triumvirate,” I’ll be privileged to read and view your own interpretations of terrible days ahead.

So, please, visit the site, peruse our guidelines, and consider whether you might want to share any glimpses of the doomed worlds of your own creation.

Dead Snakes featured two outstanding poems on Monday by my friend and colleague, Philippe Atherton-Blenkiron. Readers of this blog know that I’m a big fan of his first collection of poetry, “The Pustoy.”

The poems titles are “Ode to Sabrina” and “Redsands.” The latter is titled after a real, abandoned, youth residential care facility in the author’s native Britain, and it’s accompanied by a set of moody black-and-white photos that he took there himself.

I love “Redsands.” Its final stanza and closing lines remind me of the ending of lines near the end of one of my own favorite poems, “The Shield of Achilles,” written by W.H. Auden and published in 1952:

A ragged urchin, aimless and alone, Loitered about that vacancy; a birdFlew up to safety from his well-aimed stone: That girls are raped, that two boys knife a third, Were axioms to him, who’d never heardOf any world where promises were kept,Or one could weep because another wept.

Read both of Phil’s poems at the link below. You won’t be disappointed.